Sewious Bweesness
by deadlynightfall
Summary: Two days ago, Homestar Runner had gone missing. So had Strong Bad's computer. In an effort to retrieve his Lappy, Strong Bad must go after the thief. Eventual SB/HR. Slash, rated T for  possible language and plenty of graphic scenes.
1. Stolen

" - And that's why you should never lock yourself in the bathroom after eating twelve pudding pops and drinking three Attempt-At-Competing-With-A-National-Coffee-Chain Premium Mocha-Chip Meltshakes in a day. That stuff will make you see things, man. Things that aren't supposed to be seen." Strong Bad typed, shuddering as he remembered, reading the email out loud to himself like usual. He had forgotten to mention the gallon of Blue Drink he had also consumed, but that wasn't really critical to the email, so he left it out. Sending the email and shutting his computer down, he closed the lid and hopped off his stool with the familiar Chairscoot sound.

He was awfully bored already, so he headed down to the basement, switching on the television. He flipped through the channels, though nothing good was on. Whatever, if anything, he could watch the news. Half ignoring it, he laid back on the couch and stared at the white ceiling. It was an absurdly boring color, white. Maybe one day he could paint it some other color, maybe red like the walls were.

"And in other news, someone in the town of Free Country has recently gone missing." _Wait, what?_ Strong Bad quickly sat upright, staring blankly at the television. "A one Homestar Michael Runner, last seen two days ago in the locker rooms, or Coach Z's office. If you have any information related to this, please call the number below." So Homestar was missing, then… whatever, no skin off his back. Strong Bad turned the television off and hopped from the couch, heading back upstairs. At least he could check emails in pea- "Where's my computer?" He cried, noticing that it was definitely gone from its spot on the computer table.

Now was a time to panic. "My computer! My Lappy, my poor Lappy!" Dashing out of the house, he ran to Bubs'. "Bubs! You seen my Lappy?" "Nu-uh, Strong Bad, I haven't seen your laptop anywhere but on your desk." "Crap!" Now was probably the time to ask Strong Mad and the Cheat. It took a while to find them, but eventually he did. The pair was hanging around Club Technochocolate, which was due to open soon. Neither of them had seen his computer. Sighing, Strong Bad headed back to his house. Nobody else would have seen his Lappy, nor did he feel like asking them.

Walking past the computer table on his way back to the basement, he noticed out of the corner of his eye, a note. Doing a double take, he picked it up. It was made of cut out magazine letters glued to a sheet of printer paper. How cliché. It read, _If you ever want to see your precious computer and your town's beloved runner again, be at the far end of Club Technochocolate's parking lot at midnight. Come alone, or the computer gets it._

"Well, Homestar I don't really care about, but crap." Dropping the note, he trudged back to the basement, after grabbing his prescription - Italian Herb Chipotle Buffalo Ranch Guacamole Thai Peanut Style Chippety Chomps. The only thing on television was still, in fact, the news, but he settled for reruns of Popular Reality Show. He would have just watched The Show instead, but he had many reasons for not doing so. Two, in fact. First, it wasn't even on at the moment, and even if it was, he was pretty sure he didn't feel like hearing Homestar's voice for probably the rest of his young and very good-looking life.

He pulled the bag of chips open, popping one in his mouth and ignoring the faces on the screen. The overused and annoying clapping and laughing loops were often heard, though Strong Bad's mind was far from reality at the moment. Why exactly would someone want to steal his laptop? What were they getting out of it? And why would they abduct Homestar as well? That didn't make any sense. Ha, not that he cared. They could keep Dumbstar. He just wanted his computer back.

Most importantly, why wasn't he going after his computer thief? Oh, yeah, cause he couldn't. He had hours to go, hours, hours, hours… the word replayed over in his mind. What a terrible word at this moment. By this time, his bag of chips was almost empty, so he set the bag aside for him to eat later, when he got his computer back.

After lounging lazily on the orange couch, Strong Bad passed out, sleeping a few of his precious hours away. He was awoken by the theme to a familiar show - aptly named - The Show. He grumbled, wiped his eyes, and sat up. Blinking sleep from his eyes, he noticed he only had forty-five minutes to go. Maybe he would actually watch The Show. After all, they didn't really have quality programs on Friday night television.

Homestar (the past-tense, television likeness) was introducing some obscure guest onto the show. Watching closely, Strong Bad noticed the confused glimmer in the boy's eyes when he wasn't sure how to pronounce What's-His-Face's name. Weird. Not unlike stupid Homestar, however, to embarrass himself on his own television show, though. That was a normal thing; it pretty much always had been since he got the rights to the show in the first place.

How, Strong Bad wondered, had someone as dense as Hoemstar, been chosen to run a television show? Didn't they have like… an IQ test or something? Maybe fire a laser and show how cool you are test. Dorkstar would have failed that, no doubt. Strong Bad, on the other hand, would have passed with flying colors. Even if he didn't want to be the host for something as lame as The Show.

Moving on from the guest's name, he began with the trivialities. First some small chitchat, how are you and what do you do for a living, etcetera. Then came the questions. As much as Sfront Bad hated trivia, he still watched the events on the television. The way that no-armed whitey blinked, the way he smiled. Those were weird, definitely worthy of a remote-put to the face. Multiple times.

After dealing with the speech impediment for much longer than Strong Bad was willing to admit, he noticed the time. He needed to get going, and now. Turning the television off, Strong Bad sprinted upstairs and out the door.

The deep rumbling of the bass in the club vibrated beneath the grass under his feet. The parking lot was awfully crowded, but weaving through the parked cars, the wrestleman managed to get to the back corner of the lot. He waited for a few minutes, before a voice called, "You're early."

He turned to see the face that belonged with the unknown voice, but only came to see shadow. "Yeah, so? Just give me my computer back." "Tsk tsk," came the disapproving tone of the stranger. "Manners. I don't have to do anything for you. Besides, I have a little something for you," A shuffling was heard, and it sounded like a duffel bag was unzipped, a gag untied, and gulps for fresh air.

"Homestar?" Strong Bad asked the darkness, waiting for a speech impediment to reply. There was a cough, several, actually. "Stwong Bad? You came fow me!" Frowning, he replied, "No. I actually just came for my computer."

"Too bad you won't need it," Came the unknown voice. A fist hitting flesh cracked through the night. Strong Bad considered running, but before he could even take a step, all went black.


	2. Insecurity

I never really ask this of whoever my readers are, but if you can, review! I don't bite at all. I love hearing what you have to say.

**Homestarluver201**** : **I had never read Opposites Attract until you said something about it. So, maybe. I'm only a few chapters through, though. Just see what happens. (:

When Strong Bad awoke, he couldn't see much. The room wasn't even lit, but after his eyes adjusted, he looked around. He was probably in a basement. And not a tidy one, either, dirt covered the walls. Strong Bad wasn't sure he wanted to know what stained the walls. He tried to rub his eyes, but his hands were cuffed to the concrete wall behind him. This sent a chill up his spine. As uncool as it was to admit, he was a little frightened. "H-Hello?" He stuttered to the darkness. His voice fell silent in the room.

Struggling against the cuffs was a stupid idea, but he tried it anyway. After giving up, he sighed and closed his eyes. What was going to happen to me? Why had it even happened in the first place? He stopped, however, when he heard a quiet shuffling. Chains jangled, and Strong Bad's eyes opened. "Whewe… whewe am I? It's awfully dawk in hewe, I can't see a thing!" "Homestar," Strong Bad breathed, trying to find the voice in the darkness. He wouldn't be able to, however.

Someone was coming. Steps fell on stairs. There were stairs; that meant they were below ground. This was a basement. There was a floor above this, there had to be. Light poured into the dank basement as a door somewhere was opened, and it shut just as quickly as it had been thrown open. The steps were getting louder; they were getting closer to him. "Grlkch," Strong Bad heard, presumably from Homestar. The masked man heard the metallic sounds of cuffs being unlocked and tossed aside without care.

As soon as the figure had come, he had disappeared, and with Homestar. Tch, whatever… right? He didn't care. That was right, that sounded right, maybe. But to be honest, he _was_ a little worried. He wondered what would happen to the idiot. After all, he obviously couldn't take care of himself.

"Stwong Bad, I came to wetuwn youw fondue pot," He heard in the silence. Looking up, he noticed that no, nothing was there. Now he was hearing Dumbstar's stupid speech impodiment – impediment. Idiot. "Stwong Bad, I'm gonna bowwow youw computew box," The voice came again. "Shut up," He muttered angrily to himself. How annoying.

His chin was jerked upwards. He found his eyes staring into those of a warm chocolate brown. Dark red, curly hair framed the stranger's pale face. "Who the crap are you?" Strong Bad spat, narrowing his eyes. "Youw fwiend, yanno." The stranger replied, tightening the grip on Strong Bad's throat. Wait, did he mean Homestar? What a load of bullcrap. "Grk, seriously… I'm not gonna do much good if you strangle me, you know." This guy was too angry and vengeful to be Homestar, right? Plus, he didn't look anything like Dorkstar. What an idiot. "You don't say," Came the articulate retort. "Now, I'm no idiot, let's get that stwaight wight now." His nails were digging into the wrestler's throat. "I can do what I want with you. You'we mine, you know."

"Really? What do you need ME for?" "I don't need you fow anything at all, actually. I could dispose of you whenevew I wanted to." Strong Bad let this sink in for a moment. Okay, so this was supposedly Homestar. Who was supposedly angry? Over something or other, what, he wasn't sure of. Whatever. His throat was released, and Strong Bad inhaled sweet, sweet air. The stranger was gone, leaving Strong Bad to wonder. Closing his eyes, he tried to stay calm and think about the situation.

The stranger kind of _did_ look like Homestar, in a weird sort of way. Well, sort of. And he did have that stupid speech impediment. But he just sounded too smart, too informed… too angry. Maybe he was just now getting back at Strong Bad for everything he ever done to him? That made more sense than anything. Chuckling uncertainly to himself, Strong Bad realised he was thinking rationally – something he usually didn't do. Ever. Actually, he couldn't even think of an occasion where he had thought with the level-headed calmness that he was now.

But that wasn't to last. His uncertainty had gotten the best of him, and he tried to keep thinking, tried to keep himself awake. He couldn't, though. He began to ache, and he didn't know where those aches had come from, but they kept him from staying alert. He couldn't keep his eyes open anymore.

So he fell asleep.


	3. Blinded

:D

When emerald eyes fluttered open, he groggily blinked the sleep away, and tried to remember where he was. His eyes adjusted to the dark, and he could see a bit better than he remembered being able to. Glancing upwards to his hands, which hung in tight cuffs around his wrists, there were fingers. _Fingers. Since when did he have fingers? He had always had boxing gloves instead._ He looked down at his torso. Muscles rippled faintly beneath tan flesh. _At least SOMETHING is right about this._ He wondered what his face looked like, if he wasn't his normal self anymore. Before he could ponder any further, though, the door opened, blinding him.

"So you'we awake," Came the voice of the stranger, and Strong Bad shifted anxiously. "What did you do to me? Why do I look like this? And **what** kind of sick pleasure are you getting out of it?" "Homestar" came closer, drawing Strong Bad's chin under his thumb, his brown eyes half-lidded. "Simply," He paused, smirking softly; a smile full of sick lust, hiding something deeper, darker, more malicious. Strong Bad was pretty sure he didn't want to know what. "Because I can."

Pale hands fluttered over Strong Bad's shoulders, creeping up to his neck, across his jawbone. He tensed, his head telling him to pull away, even though he couldn't. "No sense in trying to get away," Ivory lips purred, stepping a bit closer. "I'm the only one who's going to get what he wants tonight." Wait, was this freak _getting off on this?_ Sickened, Strong Bad struggled a bit more.

After a moment of staring down his frightened prey, he attacked, forcing his lips onto the other's. Before Strong Bad could pull away, want engulfed him, and his tongue begged for entrance to the other's mouth. What was he doing? What if this was really Homestar? He was _kissing __**Homestar.**_ Pulling away, he spat at the floor. "Gross!"

Chuckling, the whitey (with very real arms) pulled away. "If I remember right, you were the one that shoved your tongue down my throat." "Euugh, shut up. You're the one with like, magic powers or something," Their eyes met, brown, questioning, green, embarrassed. "Why do you say that?" Strong Bad felt a blush creep faintly across his cheeks. He wondered if he was wearing his mask. If he was, he couldn't feel it. "Well, b-because. You kissed me, and if that wasn't some creepy power that made me like it, then I don't know what it was. Plus," He motioned to his muscular chest and fingers with his chin. "I didn't originally have these. So you have to had something."

"Or maybe," The nameless one countered, appearing next to Strong Bad's bare chest, which he promptly put a hand on, "You just like that sort of thing." Strong Bad blinked, looking away. Not only was he embarrassed, but he had just realised something. The speech impediment was gone. So that had to mean it was fake. "Youw speech impodiment is gone, loser. Your act is through." Brown eyes looked a bit surprised, but the emotion was gone from his eyes as soon as it appeared.

Sighing defeatedly, the Homestar lookalike turned his gaze to Strong Bad. "Well, then, my facade is broken. Big deal. I still have my toy," He paused, looking at him in a way that made the shirtless boy shudder. "A toy, might I add," He stepped closer, digging his nails into tan flesh. "That I don't mind breaking."


	4. Toy

kjerlfjlejfr

In this chapter, there may be traces of gay bashing. I don't support this, at all, if you wonder about that. It's just a part of the story.

Collapsing to the floor, Strong Bad clutched his side. After the nameless boy left, he was alone in the dark. He shuddered, both in pain and at the realisation of what had just happened to him.

"_A toy, might I add," Nails dug into his flesh, and he winced, struggling slightly, "That I don't mind breaking."_

_He was unchained, to his surprise, and pulled close to the redhead. He was confused, and had no idea what was going on. Pushing away, he managed to scratch at his captor. "Stupid," he snarled, "I'll have to teach you a lesson for that. My toys need to know their place."_

He stopped the flashback there. He didn't want to think about that anymore. No, he didn't, not at all. He didn't want to think about being thrown to the ground after having his clothes ripped off his body. How that sick bastard had almost… almost… His face felt wet now. Raising his left hand to his cheek, he found he had begun to cry. He was crying. He hadn't cried in… he didn't even know how long. Years, maybe. The last time he cried was when his mother died. That was when he was seven. He cried every day after that, until his dad left the week after. After that, he didn't cry anymore. He couldn't.

And now, after ten years, he was crying. He didn't even really understand that. Shifting a bit, he remembered the gash on his side, and he wondered why it wasn't hurting. In the dark, he could just make out a small pool of warm, sticky liquid. Releasing his grip on his side, he looked at his hand, covered in blood. So that bastard really _had_ gotten him… he knew he felt the pain, but at the time he had no idea where it was coming from. Now, he knew. What if there were other cuts? Sighing quietly, Strong Bad slumped against the concrete wall, letting his head flop sideways a bit.

After crying and losing all that blood, he was exhausted. Putting pressure back on the wound, he kept his eyes open. He didn't want to be caught asleep, no way. Not after what had happened earlier. Blinking, he yawned, wincing as his chest expanded with the deep intake of air.

After a while of dutifully staying up, he decided that sleeping might be a better idea than not, so he settled down, letting his eyes wander the basement. He'd never admit it, but he thought it was eerie as hell. Especially since it was dark, it was too quiet, and he didn't have the strength to get up and feel around for an exit. He wouldn't anyhow; he couldn't see a foot in front of him.

He had only been alone for a little while before the door opened again. Pressing his back against the wall, he watched as his unnamed captor made his way down the stairs. Their eyes met, and brown eyes glinted evilly, displaying sinister intentions. "Are you ready, my toy?" Strong Bad quivered, shivering both because of his fear and because he wasn't clothed. Each step echoed in the empty, stonewalled room. Each step made Strong Bad's heart thump, and as much as he wished he could back further into the wall and hide, he knew he was trapped. Cornered, like an animal.

He was grabbed by the throat, pressed against the wall, and blindfolded. Forced forwards, he was led to a room that he couldn't see, and he tried to listen for any clues, as stupid as the idea might be. His hands were jerked from his sides, and cuffed above his head, and he felt cold stone against his back. So, another stone room, with shackles on the walls. Okay, so the dude had a slight bondage fetish. As his legs were spread and cuffed to the wall as well, he changed his mind. This dude had a bondage fetish, and _bad_. "So, I take it you haven't been laid in years?" Strong Bad muttered.

Slapped with a stinging hand, he almost regretted saying that, but something told him to see how far he could push the guy. "Did you ever realise you have a _guy_ here? I'm a guy. What, are you some sort of gay freak?" He was smacked again, on the other cheek. "So you don't care, then. Your mommy know you got a guy in chains in your basement? I always thought moms were against that kinda thing, but man, I don't know." His leg tingled as the cold edge of a blade drew across his thigh, down towards his knee.

"Right. Okay. So no on the mom, what about your dad? He gay too?" His stomach rumbled, ending his tirade. He realised he hadn't eaten since he was socked in the face and brought here. "Hey, wimpy, was it you that clocked me in the face? You don't look like the kinda guy who can carry his own groceries home." A pale fist collided with his stomach. "Gkk," Yeah, that was him, alright. Definitely. "So why'd you bring me here anyway? I mean, I didn't do anything, I don't even know you."

"You didn't do anything? Well, we all know that's a lie." We? Why we? Was there more than one? The thought of there being a group of people instead of one wimp made him freeze. This one boy had a penchant for injuring his victims, if there were more, that meant a bigger chance of… he gulped, shaking his head. No, he'd ignore that thought. He wouldn't even consider it.

Biting his lip, which he told himself was a very not Strong Bad thing to do. He flinched as the blade scored his skin again. Wow, that fucking hurt, more than falling off of the roof of Bub's Concession Stand that one time he got wasted on soy sauce. Why had he even done that, he wondered? Oh, he had remembered that one time he had a smokin' hot girlfriend name Chelsea, and she broke up with him in school… what a stupid thing to remind himself of, that had happened years ago.

Strong Bad was knocked from his reverie as cold steel sunk into his chest, carving _something,_ though he didn't know what. It was a bit painful, making it hard to concentrate on what it could say. If it was a word, it was a long one. Maybe the idiot had made a mistake. "Yo, dimwit, if you're gonna carve words on my good-looking self, make sure you spell em right." The redhead let out a low growl. "Shut your mouth. You're lucky I like you enough, my pet, or you'd have been crying for mercy ages ago." Strong Bad scoffed. "Pfft, right. Whatever you say." The blade was removed from his chest, and the flat side run down his cheek, smearing blood on his skin and leaving a pink line where the blade met the skin. "Don't make me carve up your pretty little face, dear." He went back to scoring letters into the blindfolded Strong Bad's torso.

Ignoring the pain and talking anyway was something a captured Strong Bad would do, he was pretty sure he had said that at one time or another. Laughing in the face of danger was another thing, too, but it was mostly Dangeresque's deal. Even though, he _was_ Dangeresque. He could mock whatever he wanted to, even if there happened to be better idea than teasing the enemy. He was Dangeresque – no, he was Strong Bad! He was hot, he was awesome, and he would make it out of this. That was pretty obvious.

Although, he really wished he wasn't stuck here. He felt pretty helpless, really. What would other people think if they knew he was tied up in this humiliating position? What would they say? He was well aware that not many people in Free Country liked him – but he probably wasn't even in Free Country anyway. He sighed, but a sharp pain cut him off halfway. Biting his lip, he closed his eyes. No point in them being open, he couldn't see. "I'm going now," The stranger's voice called. The cuffs around his ankles were undone, and a familiar fabric slid against his skin. "It's cold down here, and I don't want such a precious gem like you freezing to death. You'd be awfully useless then…" He realised he was now wearing his pants, and he was relieved that he was covered up.

His captor's steps faded gradually, but before they were gone, he spoke. "You should be grateful to the gods for giving you something like what you've got." Then, the redhead was gone. Still blindfolded, Strong Bad pondered the hidden meaning. A few seconds after, he blushed. The boy had been talking about his _parts_. Awkward. Very awkward. He shuddered, putting the thought out of his head. Before he could really rationally ask himself what he should do next, exhaustion crept forward, and he fell asleep.


End file.
